In Fine Saeculorum
by MagicGirl41
Summary: It is 2125 A.D. Merlin has been waiting for Arthur for almost two thousand years, but when the King finally returns he comes to a world consumed by war. Will destiny finally be fulfilled or has time and the corruption of man destroyed that chance forever? Merlin&Arthur bromance, BAMF!Merlin, Freylin, Arwen.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Heya! I've been writing fanfiction for years and years now, but this is my first actual multi-chapter fic. *drop of sweat* Hopefully I can match up to the insanely awesome standards set on this site ^.^ The prologue here is rather short, so I'll put out the first chapter today as well, but I'll shooting for a chapter a week :D

Disclaimer: You think _I _own Merlin? Guuurl, if I owned _Merlin_, I would be constantly in the company of Colin Morgan. Touching his hair most of the time. Oh, and I wouldn't have let those giant plot-holes in . . . *cough cough* But for realzies, _Merlin_ is my favorite show and I only _wish_ that I wrote it ^.^

(speaking of plotholes, here's the story!)

_In Fine Saeculorum_ / _To the End of the Ages_

P.r.o.l.o.g.u.e

-:-

_Amidst the rubble and destruction, amidst the war and death, this one place remained. It was a miracle that it was still there, for it was the only pure and untouched spot in the world, free of toxins and poisons, alive in spite of men._

_It was a lake. _

_For centuries, it had remained, waters still clear and sparkling, preserving the small amount of magic still left in this world. It had watched, silently, quietly, as the world changed and changed, as men died and as others took their place. But now the world was tearing itself apart and the war was awakening even this place from its slumber._

_The surface of the lake began to glow, the first ripples of a thousand years spreading from its epicenter. Five figures, shining blue, rose from the surface._

_Thousands of miles away, a nurse paused in her work, her normally dark eyes flashing gold._

"It's time."

-:-

Silence. In the blackness several men shifted, nervously tightening their grips on their weapons. Their leader held up a hand, blue eyes scanning the dark for signs of life. His other hand, resting on a machine gun, quivered slightly, and then men knew what their leader would not tell them. Bravery and pure luck had kept them alive for this long, but not for much longer. A drop of sweat hit the ground.

The sky exploded.

Suddenly order were being shouted from all directions, men charged, screaming battle cries, and were shot down in droves, the ground erupted in a shower of red and rock, sending soldiers flying . . .

Their leader, eyes blazing, shouted for cover and, shooting as he went, dove behind a pile of rubble. He fumbled for his comm, ducking as the air behind him erupted, sending flecks of blood into his already red-drenched hair.

Finally finding the switch, he held the comm up to his lips, shouting to be heard above the chaos. Behind him men screamed in horror as their limbs flew off, and as more blood covered the battleground . . .

"Command? This is Commander Morgan, code name Merlin . . . does anyone copy? Orders? Command?!" Cursing, he dropped the broken comm, eyes flooding golden as another explosion rocked the night . . .


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello again ^.^ At this point in the story I start throwing around a lot of British cities and phrases. I've actually been to England once, but I'm American and I'm using a map for most of this, so forgive me if I don't use the cities realistically (and if I destroy yours, but buck up, it's the nuclear apocalypse). I also don't know a lot about the military, but I'm passing it off on the fact that this takes place in the future *guilty smile* We also meet my main OC (YAY OCs!) so that's fun. Don't forget to review!

Disclaimer: Didn't I just say that I don't own _Merlin_? Turn on your listening ears, folks. Besides, if I owned Merlin, the cast would have been part of a football team . . . oh wait, that already happened?

_In Fine Saeculorum_ / _To the End of the Ages_

C.h.a.p.t.e.r. O.n.e.

Several men crouched in the depths of this cave, coughing as dust, kicked up by periodic tremors, regularly filled their lungs. Almost all of them had shirts stained with red, or missing arms or legs. Those who didn't sat by their wounded comrades, either talking to them, assisting the assortment of rag-tag meds who were rushing from patient to patient, or writing a letter to the injured soldier's loved ones. It was the least they could do for the downed men, most of whom wouldn't last the night.

Simon, working by the fading light of his transmitter, finished the letter he was working on. His chest tightened as he glanced down at his friend, whose shallow breathing spelled out his fate. The letter in question was for Marcus's fiancé—his parents and siblings had been killed in the Bristol bombing. The last Marcus had heard, his girlfriend had been heading to Birmingham.

Birmingham had been completely destroyed a few minutes ago. Looking at the peaceful expression on his dying friend's face, Simon couldn't find the heart to tell Marcus about the newest bombing. Instead he sent a prayer that the two would find each other in the afterlife.

"Captain." Simon looked up into the face of a nameless soldier. He briefly wondered why the man was reporting to him, and then remembered that Colin was still out there. He took a deep breath, and got up, leaving Marcus.

"Report."

The young man struggled to maintain his strong demeanor, his confusion and befuddlement barely slipping through. "We've found . . . citizens sir—if you could even call them that, I don't know—" As the young man struggled for words, Simon put his hand on the soldier's shoulder.

"What is your name, boy?"

The boy flashed a grateful smile. "Devon, sir."

Simon smiled. "Well then, Devon. Take your time."

"Well sir . . . I don't understand these men. They speak nonsense. I mean, it's English . . . but it's not at the same time."

Simon frowned. "English but not English?"

"Exactly sir. They use terms that I don't know, and they're dressed in ancient clothes, the like of which I've never seen. They speak of an . . . Albion? Avalon? I'm not sure. And . . ." the soldier trailed off.

Simon raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Devon looked him in the eye. "They're asking about Merlin."

Simon swore.

-:-

The smoke cleared, just long enough for the commander to see his men before another bomb went off. All Marvin knew—wait. That was his name last time. What was his name again? Samuel? Kyren? Malo? Colin? Defiantly Colin. All Colin knew was that he needed to get his men out, _now_. Climbing to the top of the rubble, he summoned all the strength he had left.

"_Squadron, fall back!"_ Black smoke engulfed the air and he choked as he grabbed more ammo, then ran back into the firefight, desperate to give his men a chance to escape.

-:-

The deep part of the caves were dark and menacing, even with the transmitter light, but Simon purged the depths with purpose. He stepped over heaps of recovered bodies, grimacing at the mangled bodies and the smell coming off of them. There were too many dead, and too many he had known personally. There's a difference between starting down at a nameless corpse and staring down at the unmoving boy that Simon had trained, made promises to, and looked out for. He forced himself to move on.

Simon found her working in the archives, filing the names of the dead for their (maybe) living relatives. Her hair was tousled and her face smudged with blood, but she kept working, face set and determined, eyes as fierce and bright as the day he met her all those years ago.

"Freya." She looked up, briefly startled, then relaxed slightly as she saw him, face illuminated by the dim light of their transmitters. He moved to lean against the cave wall.

She put down her padd. "What is it?"

Simon didn't answer, but leaned towards her padd. "What news from inland?"

Freya frowned. "Nothing good." She sighed. "Same as always, really. Bombings everywhere but in UE. America, or what's left of it, is still getting battered pretty hard. U-Moscow is burning, but so is U-Paris."

"They're not really our problem anymore."

"But they should be." Freya rubbed her forehead. She looked a thousand years old sometimes, like she had seen more hurt than anyone ever should. They all had of course, but with her it just seemed so much more real. "I don't understand. There's not even time for sides now—the alliances have broken apart, everyone's dying, and we're still fighting. Cities are burning, leaders are dead, we're not attacking France but we're not helping them either, it's just so—" She broke off, blinking rapidly. There was a moment of silence that Simon refused to fill and Freya moved on. "It's just so stupid. This isn't a war, it's a universal massacre. If we could only stop *_fighting*_—" She broke off again, this time for good, and Simon put an arm around her. There they stayed, silent and grieving, until Freya spoke up again, voice wavering.

"Any word from Colin?" Pity flooded Simon's heart, but he would not lie to her.

"Not yet." She took a deep breath, blinking quickly. "Hey . . ." Simon turned her towards him, catching her eyes with his. "Hey. It's going to be _fine_. It's _Colin_. He probably broke his comm, the idiot. He'll be back, cursing me as he comes." Freya smiled weakly. "There it is!" She chuckled softly, but the laugh didn't quiet reach her eyes.

"Why are you here, Simon?"


End file.
